Q is for Heartache
by XOXO Ren
Summary: When Quinn Fabray leaves for Charleston, she expects that Ohio will be in her past forever. Little does she know that people aren't giving up on her so easily.
1. Chapter 1

The letter trembles in between her fingers, and she wants to drop it into the trash can. The letters are blocky and clearly written. She's gotten letters before, and more often than not, she's tossed them away without a second thought. But not this one. This time, she can't bring herself to do it. Noah wouldn't take the time to write her if it wasn't over something important. What if her mother had died? What if her father was back in the hospital? What if Beth –

She refuses to let herself think that way. Quinn knew that she could deal with the loss of her parents; her father already denounced her as his child, and she lacks enough courage to ever look her mother in the eye again. But losing Beth, her child, her _one perfect thing_in this wretched, messed up world would shake her to the core, and Quinn would never be able to recover. She bites the inside of her lower lip in anticipation. Sam places his hand on her shoulder.

"You don't have to open it, you know. You don't have to read anything he sends," Sam sighed, attempting to calm Quinn down from the brink of a nervous breakdown. She shakes her head and turns around in her seat, looking at him with sad, empty eyes. He massages her neck and shoulders gently.

"I know," she answers him, and places the sealed envelope face down on the kitchen table.

* * *

><p>Quinn kisses Sam for what has to be the third time that morning before she goes to work. Work. The word still feels strange to her, even though she's been out of school for a little over a year. She simply cannot wrap her head around it. She is nineteen years old – her birthday is in a month – shouldn't she be in college right now? Of all the places that she imagined herself after graduation, Charleston, South Carolina sat nowhere near the top ten spots. Not that Charleston is a <em>bad<em> town … the nice weather and easy access to a beach make it nice enough. But even with all of Charleston's redeeming qualities, it just isn't _New York_. It doesn't fit her life plan.

She picks up her wide-handled, baby-blue bicycle and carries it down three flights of stairs until she reaches the street. Quinn breathes in the salty, seaside air. The streets are relatively empty, apart from the occasional homeless man and concierge bundled up in his pea coat. Its funny, really, how people in the south think that this weather is cold. Quinn has lived through far worse winters, where snow rests above her ankles and the roads are salted to keep from freezing over. Here, the winter weather doesn't go below fifty degrees. That's nice, Quinn thinks, because after all that she's dealt with, she could use some warmer weather.

When she gets to the small art gallery on the corner of Broad and Trapman, she sees a woman waiting outside of the door. Quinn fumbles for the keys in her pocket, and apologizes once she has found them. The woman, who looks to be about Quinn's age, if not a year or two older, nods politely, and gives Quinn a smile. There's a funny thing about this girl; she's not like others Quinn knows, who smile to be polite, but rarely for anything else. This girl actually appears to _want _to smile, like she's found the secret to happiness, and wants Quinn to open her eyes and see it. Quinn ignores the look, and takes her place in the chair behind the counter. There are a few minutes of silence before the girl says anything.

"These pendants – they're very pretty," the Asian girl states, keeping her voice low.

"Thank you … I mean, aren't they? They're by a woman named Karin Collins. She's actually pretty neat." Quinn replies. The girl cocks her head to the side and looks at a pendant for a second time.

"And they're on spoons, too? I didn't even notice. I'm Tina, by the way."

"Tina. Cool. I'm Quinn. And you don't have to keep whispering, you know. Its not like your voice is gonna break the art."

"Where're you from? You don't sound local." Tina asks. It's a question that Quinn has been asked a lot. It seems like everyone here wants to know everyone else's story.

"Ohio," Quinn answers, automatically. It feels like both a truth and a lie. Tina nods and purses her lips.

"I have family up there, but I haven't been in years," Tina offers, and then tries to make conversation about nothing in particular. Nothing about the conversation seems stimulating, so Quinn stares into space while pretending to read a flyer about the gallery's upcoming shows and events. She looks up to see Tina standing closer now, only five feet away. Quinn bites her lower lip.

"Anyway. Why did you move here?" Tina asked. Quinn smiles, but bites the inside of her cheek.

"Its kind of a long story."

* * *

><p>Quinn reaches the door to her apartment, fitting her silver key into the lock and turning it. After a few seconds of struggle, the door pushes backward, and she is allowed to enter. Her arms ache after she puts her bicycle back in its place. Quinn calls out for Sam. There is no answer. Good, Quinn thinks. She kind of wants to be alone for a little bit.<p>

She likes Sam, but sometimes he comes off as a dorky high school sophomore rather than a person who has graduated. She doesn't blame him for being a geek; its kind of cute, and his Star Wars jokes make her smile. Plus, Sam is a good kid. He's not like the people from Lima, who she has gleefully left behind.

At least, who she thought she left behind. Her cell phone rings in her pocket, causing her to groan. What was it now? Or rather, who was it? The clock read five o'clock – Sam would probably still be at work, which meant that he wouldn't be calling unless it was an emergency. This is supposed to be her hour and a half of peace, quiet, and solitude. She looks down at it, and realizes that the number isn't one that she knows. Quinn presses the phone against her ear in order to take the call.

"Hello?" she asks curiously. Silence follows for a few seconds and she considers hanging up. This is a waste of her time.

"Is this Quinn?" The voice is familiar. Quinn recognizes the fast-talking, sharp-voiced girl immediately. Its Rachel Berry. Now she _knows _that this call is a waste of her time.

"How did you get this number?" Quinn responds. She's hoping her bitter tone will scare the girl away.

"So this _is_Quinn? Good. Listen. We need to talk."

"We don't need to do anything, Rachel. The only thing I need is for you to hang up and never call this number again."

"_Quinn_. Don't you want to know what's going on at home? About Beth? She's your daughter. She's your family. Don't you want to talk about her? Or catch up? Or, listen … Quinn …" When Quinn is sure that the other girl is out of words, she speaks up.

"Listen? I've done enough listening. I _left _Ohio, and I'm not coming back. I don't know how you got this number, but if you call me again, you're going to regret it. Got that? Or do I have to repeat myself to get it through your thick skull?"

"No, that's not what – Quinn, please." There is a click, and Quinn takes her finger off of the end button. The last thing she wants to do right now is get caught up in her past. She left Ohio over a year ago, and with it, she left the person she used to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam chews his food too noisily for Quinn's liking, but it's something that she has grown used to over the past few months. When she cooks, which happens to be most nights, she tries to make soft things, like ramen noodles or some kind of soup. Even if the weather in Charleston is ninety-six degrees with one-hundred percent humidity, Quinn likes soup. She's always been like that, although in Ohio, it was rarely that hot. It's one of her comfort foods; soup reminds her of home. She won't admit it out loud, but she does miss home. Charleston is nice, but it's warm, heavy winds, lack of rain and proximity to the ocean is just … _different_. Quinn tries to convince herself that different isn't bad, and she knows it isn't. It just takes getting used to.

Tonight he is peculiarly quiet, which makes Quinn suspicious. She watches him chew for a few seconds. She doesn't like this silence. She wants him to talk, to reassure her that nothing today has or will go wrong. When he doesn't say a word, she decides to start the conversation.

"Met an interesting girl at work today." Sam raises an eyebrow curiously. "Her name's Tina. Took an interest in those pendants that Collins brought in. I told you about those, right?" He doesn't look up.

"I think so." That's all she can get out of him; Sam doesn't seem to care about her day at work when there's food in front of him. He's the kind of boy who can't do too many things at once without getting confused. He brings his bowl to the sink in their tiny kitchen. "So, uh, Mike's coming over tonight. He's bringing his XBOX. You can hang with us if you want to. Don't know if you'd be into his type of game, though."

Quinn sighs. She should have known. While she has to worry about how Rachel Berry got her phone number, the letter from her ex-boyfriend and the health of her baby, the most important thing on Sam's mind is what video game he'll play next.

Mike sets up his XBOX 360 in a matter of minutes and sits on the couch next to Sam. The game of the day is Portal, but Quinn can't find enough energy to act like she cares. She sits on the floor in front of the couch, leaning her head back against Sam's knees.

"Quinn. You okay? You kinda look like you're dying down there," Mike observes. Quinn nods.

"Crap on a stick!" Sam exclaims, "Mike, you're supposed to help me out here, man. That's why it's called _multi -_player." Quinn can't help but laugh, but upon seeing Sam's face, she covers her mouth.

"Dude. Your girl looks seriously down. Sorry for making conversation." This catches Sam's attention. He looks at Quinn pervasively and runs his fingers through her hair. It's like now is the first time he's seen that she's not the happy-go-lucky girl he knows.

"What's wrong?" Quinn doesn't know how to answer his question. There are so many things that are wrong. There's a war going on in Afghanistan (or has it ended? She can't really remember), there's a genocide in Uganda, and almost a thousand people die every hour from preventable causes. Charleston is too hot in the winter, but Ohio is too cold. Her boyfriend likes playing XBOX instead of paying attention to her. And everything she worked so hard for? It's all crashing down around her.

"I'm just tired. Don't worry about me." But Sam's gaze is persistent. "I'm fine, I promise. I just need to sleep." He doesn't appear to be satisfied with her answer, and begins to massage her shoulders. Quinn inches forward so that she is no longer within his reach. He frowns.

"What did I do?" He honestly sounds concerned. Quinn feels badly for snapping at him, but at this point in time, it's one of her only options.

"Nothing. If you wanted to talk, you would've talked to me earlier. Play your stupid game." With that, she heads into the small bedroom that they share. Sam can sleep on the couch tonight. It wouldn't be the first time that he's fallen asleep with a game controller in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

She wakes up to the soft feeling of fingers brushing hair out of her face. Her muscles tense and suddenly Quinn is unable to move. The air is heavy, suffocating her and working against every move she tries to make. She rolls to the side, her body now facing that of Sam. He makes a comforting noise and runs his fingers through her hair again.

"You aren't mad at me, right?" he asks. Quinn searches for any bit of antagonism in his eyes but finds nothing. She can't stay mad at him for long. A smile spreads across her face and she shakes her head.

"I could never stay angry with you." She presses her cold body against his warm one and kisses his lips. His arms are not strong, but when they wrap around her, all of her worries disappear instantly.

"Is there anything I can do?" That's the Sam that Quinn knows; he always has to play the hero and help the damsel in distress. It's probably a product of his Southern charm and lovely parents, who Quinn gets along with quite nicely. She wants to tell him no and fall asleep like this in their moment of silence, but finds herself unable to do so.

"Hold me?" Sam places his lips on her forehead and pulls her closer, reminding her that even on a Monday, there are people who can make her smile.

The Asian girl is at the gallery when Quinn arrives at work the next day. She's wearing all black – tights, a tutu, and a leather jacket. Quinn can't help but take note of the contrast between the bright pink streaks in the other girl's hair and the somber attire she's dressed herself in. She's peering intently at the artwork in front of her, leaning forward so she can get a closer look. Quinn takes her place behind the desk and looks at some brochures. The gallery is mostly empty again; it's only busy on the first few nights of a new show.

"Do you know Mike Chang?" the girl asks Quinn, leaving behind the tiny spoons and beads to stand across from her. Quinn nods. "Oh, cool. He's my boyfriend. He said you guys hung out last night?"

Quinn feels awkward. She doesn't know what to say to this girl. They've only talked once, and while their conversation had been stimulating, Quinn wasn't sure why the girl took such an interest in her. Quinn wasn't boring; after all of her years as the captain of the cheerleading squad, homecoming queen, and student council president, the last word she would use to describe herself was boring. But what kind of person just walked up to an employee at an art gallery and asked for their life story? It wasn't uncommon in Charleston, where your business was truly the business of everyone around you. Her mind was just stuck in Ohio, in the way things used to be. And she really needed to let sleeping dogs lie.

"We didn't really hang out. I mean, he came over and played videogames with Sam. He's my … boyfriend?" The words feel foreign on her tongue. Since when has Sam Evans been her boyfriend? Roommate, yes. But Quinn has not had a boyfriend since the end of her senior year. She isn't afraid of commitment; she just isn't good at it. Her heart moves faster than her head, and while that might be a dangerous way to live, it's the only way that Quinn Fabray seems to know anymore. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name."

"Tina. And I know Sam. We're in Biology together. Actually, he left something in class yesterday. Maybe you and Sam can hang with Mike and I later. It'll be fun." Quinn decides that she likes this Tina, and wonders how she could have been so clueless about Sam's life apart from her.


	3. Chapter 3

The frappe in her hand is warming up, the small bits of ice melting into the coffee. Quinn takes a small sip through the green straw, drawing it out as long as she can. The plastic tube makes a sucking noise and Sam looks over at her. She returns his look with one of annoyance. Tina and Mike wait in the Starbucks line, holding hands and laughing. Sam and Quinn sit across from each other in near silence; Quinn checks her phone compulsively every twenty seconds and Sam hums a Bruno Mars song under his breath. She wishes that they could be like Tina and Mike, smiling and telling jokes to each other until their laughter couldn't be contained. But she knows that she and Sam will never be that way. He's too much of a dork and she is too easily annoyed by his antics. Their relationship is simply one of convenience, and she doubts it will ever be anything more.

Quinn doesn't look at Sam, but rather keeps her trained eye on the couple waiting on the first floor of the coffee shop. She and Sam have taken one of the few available tables and Quinn knows she will have to wave to their friends to show them where to sit. Tina gets her coffee first, glances up, and smiles at Quinn. But she does not walk towards the stairs; instead she stands patiently next to her boyfriend, who bends slightly at the knees to kiss her soft, glossed over lips. Soon enough, the four of them are seated at the table together. _Finally,_ Quinn thinks to herself, _the awkward tension can diffuse_.

"So. Q. I didn't know you knew Tina," Mike offers to start the conversation off. Quinn wants to tell him that she doesn't know Tina, that the small girl had taken an interest in her for only goodness knew why. Somehow, though, that thought seems impolite, and for some reason, being mean to Mike just doesn't make any sense.

"We've talked once or twice." And truthfully, that's just about everything Quinn can say about Tina, whose last name she doesn't even know. "It's a small world, isn't it?"

Sam nods, not saying a word. It's strange, really, how quiet he is. On most occasions, Quinn has to tell him to shut up and stop being such a dork; it appears as if he's finally taken a hint. As much as she doesn't want to say anything to him about it, she kind of misses his voice. Even if she complains about his Star Wars and Skyrim rants, she misses the way his eyes lit up at the mention of anything similar to a lightsaber, sword, or wand. Mike is one of those people that encourages this behavior in him; today, though, Sam Evans is silent.

Quinn continues to sip her frappe, looking tiredly across the table. Tina gets up after yet another minute without words.

"I'll be right back. I need to use the facilities. Quinn – come with me?" Quinn doesn't move. She doesn't know what Tina wants from her – obviously she wants a moment to talk to Quinn alone, but what do they possibly have to talk about? Quinn cannot think of anything, but follows Tina anyway. In the bathroom, Tina looks at herself in the mirror. She leans towards the mirror, reapplying her lip gloss with an expert level of precision. She wipes at the bottom of her mouth with her pinky finger before looking at Quinn.

"Something's bothering you." The girl leans against the paper towel dispenser. Quinn arches an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Quinn responds, a bit too quickly for it to be genuine. She pauses, pretending to contemplate the words that just left her lips. "No, I can't think of anything. Why? What's up?"

"You can't hide from whatever's bothering you forever, Quinn. It isn't healthy, and it'll eat you up inside." Quinn doesn't answer. Why would she ever tell this near stranger about her life problems? About Puckerman, about Rachel, about Shelby and Beth? Tina won't understand. She can't understand. The worst thing she probably has to deal with is her class load or paying her rent. A girl like Tina? She probably hasn't had to deal with anything worse than a zit in her life.

"You don't get it. I can't do anything about it. It's dumb, anyway."

"What's dumb?"

"Nothing. Never mind. You won't understand anyway."

"Don't push people away. You know, I used to do that in high school. I didn't want people to talk to me. I wanted people to go away, leave me alone, and let me just … disappear. And for a while, they didn't. My parents sent me to therapy and put me on meds for depression. But I wasn't depressed. I just wanted a break. And then, my sophomore and junior year, I started faking a stutter. I figured that if people thought I couldn't speak right, they wouldn't talk to me at all. It worked, for the most part, you know. People don't really have a high tolerance for speech impediments –"

"What are you getting at?" Quinn is getting bored, and fast. As nice as it is to hear that other people have problems, it isn't exactly cheering her up from her depressed state.

"What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't do things like that. Halfway through my junior year, I met Mike. And he didn't let me push him away. He wanted to get to know me, even if I didn't want anything to do with him. I mean, look at us now. We're not perfect, but we're happy. And I don't want you to be like I was. I want you to be happy, and I want you to know that people care about you. You're not in Ohio anymore. You don't have to act like you're hiding some big secret. You're in a new place. You can be whoever you want to be." That's something that Quinn can say has honestly never crossed her mind.

"Your birthday's in two days," Sam offers as they walk back towards their apartment one day.

"A very astute observation, Sam," Quinn replies with a long and heavy sigh. She opens the door to their small apartment and heads straight for the kitchen. She's never been the girl that eats in front of people, even her friends Santana and Brittany, who could eat for days without getting fat. She used to be like them. But when Quinn found out that she had a baby inside of her, everything changed. Over the past few months, she's slowly but surely slipping into her old habits, feeling more comfortable in her own skin.

"I'm trying to ask you what you want." Sam sounds more annoyed than anything else, and a guilty feeling takes over Quinn.

"Nothing. I have you. That's the best present I could ask for." A list goes through her head of all the presents she really _does _want, but doesn't have the heart to ask for. Sam's done enough for her – almost too much, considering they haven't known each other for too long. Their relationship feels like one born at summer camp, lasting for only three weeks, but feeling like three years have gone by.

"No. What do you want for your birthday?" He asks again. Quinn says nothing, wishing he would once again drop the subject. "Seriously. As long as it doesn't cost three hundred bucks, I think we'll be fine. Do you want to go to dinner, get a book, one of those cameras at the pawn shop? Seriously. I'll try to get you the best birthday present I can."

Suddenly, Quinn knows exactly what she wants.

"A haircut." Determination has entered her voice, and she now is certain that this year she's going to have the best birthday ever.

Quinn stops and stares at Tina Cohen-Chang's door, unprepared to knock. What is she even doing here? She isn't sure what possesses her to stand there, much less ask Tina to do this. It isn't Quinn's place. The two girls don't even know each other that well. Surely this won't end well. Nonetheless, she raises her fist to the wooden door and stands on the far end of the welcome mat, knocking three times.

She's certain she can hear some rustling from somewhere inside the apartment and swallows her breath. What will Tina say when she sees Quinn there, smiling like an idiot, asking for this kind of a favor? It isn't anything strenuous; this much Quinn knows. Still, it isn't something that a friend asks for every day. She doesn't know how Tina will react. Finally, after a long, silent moment of standing in front of Tina's door, Quinn knocks once more. A face appears more quickly than she anticipated.

"Quinn! Hey! What's up?"

"I want to ask you for a favor."


	4. Chapter 4

"What. The. Hell. Happened." That's all Sam can say as Quinn makes her way to the kitchen to grab a late night snack. It's nearing ten at night, and she hasn't eaten anything since lunch. Quinn opens the mini-fridge and takes out the plastic container filled with fruit salad, taking off the top and eating a piece of cantaloupe with her fingers. She gives Sam a confused look. He gestures at her head with one of his hands.

"Your hair." Those are the only words Sam seems capable of saying and he rubs the ends of her newly cut hair between his fingers. "What did you do?"

Quinn doesn't have an answer for him. She thought it would be easy enough for Sam to comprehend. After all, haircuts are pretty self explanatory, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that she's made a change to her appearance, but apparently, Sam is having a hard time.

"I cut it." She responds dryly, eating another piece of fruit with her fingers.

"Naw, really? I couldn't tell." Sam responds, taking his hand away to cross his arms across his chest. "_Why?_"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders. She isn't sure why she wanted to cut it. She isn't sure why she wants to do anything anymore. Everything has turned into a massive blur, where every day follows the same schedule and every emotion she feels seems to follow a simplistic pattern. All that she knows is that she feels like she's being sucked into an endless, vicious cycle of sameness and mundane actions.

"I needed a change. I'm tired of living here, and I'm tired of doing the same thing again and again and again. I just … I've … I seriously can't stand this anymore. Okay? You get to do whatever you want, whenever you want. You don't have to worry about anything. And you don't care, do you? I just want change. And I don't understand why I have to explain that to you." Quinn is breathing more heavily than before, her cheeks red with anger and the fuse of her temper burning dangerously low. It isn't until Sam's face is close to hers that she realizes that he has moved.

"If you want a change, I can't stop you. I just want to be here for you. I want to support you. And … I guess I haven't exactly paid you as much attention as you deserve lately. Whatever you want me to do to make things work … tell me. I want to help." Quinn leans forward and kisses him, the heat from her lips transferring to the calm, cool surface of his.

* * *

><p>After that, Quinn can feel things changing between the two of them. Sam isn't out as late, and when he is, he comes home with a smile plastered across his face, and more often than not, a few flowers to put in a vase or oversized cup for Quinn. She thinks he's romantic. She enjoys this new Sam; the changes in his behavior rekindle a flame she thought she would never see again. He has become the epitome of a southern gentleman; seeing as he's a Charleston native, she expects nothing less of him. And to top things off? Quinn has not received a phone call or letter from anyone in Ohio in at least three weeks.<p>

The letter Noah sent so long ago still haunts Quinn. It sits in a book that she hasn't touched, afraid to open it for fear of the letter's temptation. One day, she can bear it no longer. She leafs through _The Importance of Being Earnest_until the small envelope falls to the floor. Her fingers tremble. Her mind races. She takes a deep, shaky breath. With one finger, she opens the crisp envelope and takes out the paper inside. The messy, heavy handwriting that bleeds through the page brings memories that flood her consciousness.

* * *

><p><em>Noah Puckerman pulls into her driveway, and she texts her mother and father to make sure that the house is empty. Quinn knows that they're usually gone to church on Wednesday nights, but that doesn't mean that they aren't running late or decided not to go. They reply, assuring her that they'll be back by nine-thirty at the latest, and that she shouldn't have people over, save for Brittany and Santana, her closest friends. She rolls her eyes at the text response. Putting her phone away, she grins at Noah, getting out of his car and leaving her purse and books in his car. She can always get them later. She isn't exactly concerned about those things right now, anyway.<em>

_"Come on." She tugs on his hand and kisses him quickly, heading into the kitchen. She skipped lunch and her stomach rumbled on the way home – plus, Noah's one of those people who could eat enough for an entire African village and still feel hunger pains. Quinn grabs some grapes from the refrigerator and pops them into her mouth, one at a time. Noah raises an eyebrow._

_"Sexy," he responds, a grin toying with the corners of his mouth. She throws one at him and he catches it._

_Next thing that she knows, they're in her bedroom, his mouth on hers, her arms wrapped around his neck. She moves her hands to his belt buckle, beginning to undo it. Noah gives her a mock look of surprise._

_"Really, Fabray? I didn't take you as this kind of girl." She swats at him playfully and removes his belt. He takes off her cropped sweater and lets it fall to the floor. They move to her bed and resume their intimate affair. "You and Finn –"_

_Quinn interrupts him. "He doesn't need to know."_

_"This isn't just another hook up for me," he responds, looking her in the eyes with so much honesty that she feels her stomach turning flips inside of her. She kisses him again. She doesn't want to face that right now. She doesn't want to think about Finn Hudson; he's the last thing on her mind._

_"Did you bring a condom?" Quinn asks. Noah snorts, amused. She should have known better; when doesn't Noah Puckerman have a condom on his person? He sucks on the soft skin of her neck; she pulls off his shirt. Finally, Quinn understands what people are talking about when they mention heaven on earth._

Her eyes scan over the front of the envelope again. Mickey Mouse stamps. Cute, but not Noah Puckerman's style. She assumes that that he buys them because of Beth now; why else would he bother? But there are more pressing questions in her head. What does the letter say? Why has he bothered to write her now, when he's had so long to forget her? Why does he still care? She smoothes out the paper on the counter in front of her. The time has come for Quinn to face her fear; the past cannot haunt her forever.

* * *

><p><em>Dear <em>_(ex) __beautiful –_

The first line is messy with the second line scratched through. Quinn can't help but wonder – what was going through his mind? Was he trying to address her as his ex? Surely even Noah knew that wasn't the way to address an ex girlfriend, especially if she was the mother to his daughter. And he thought she was beautiful. Or, at least, that the thought of her was beautiful. If he saw her now, would he still think the same thing? Definitely not. Of all the things Quinn still has from her days as Lima's beautiful prom queen and head cheerleader, she is certain her beauty is not one of them.

_I'm writing you this note, just to let you know. Things are going fine here at home._

Quinn feels like this is all that she needs to know. What else is there? Things are going fine there in Lima. At home. Home. Quinn hasn't used that or in so long that it sounds foreign to her. Home. What is home? Does she know? Home is where the heart is. Home is wherever people she cares about are. Home … doesn't exist. It didn't exist when she was living in Cleveland, it didn't exist when she moved to Lima for seventh grade, and it most definitely doesn't exist here in Charleston. Home is a lie that people create to make themselves feel safe and loved and like they belong somewhere. The truth is, though, there is no such thing. People don't belong in one place; they are meant to roam the earth and make themselves as happy as they can be without getting attached. Of this, Quinn is sure.

_Keeping the plants watered._

Way to go, Puckerman, is Quinn's first thought. She feels cheated when he writes in fragments, like he is stealing valuable time and information from her, trying to rush his way out of writing her. But if that's the case, why did he even bother? Temptation boils underneath the surface of her skin, telling her, pleading and begging her to just crumple up the paper and throw it somewhere far away. To never read it again. But for some odd reason, she can't take her eyes off the page. She stares blankly at it, her eyes tearing up and her head filling with foggy uncertainty. Maybe all that Quinn needs is a rest; yes, surely that's all she needs.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn just wants everything to end. She's tired of Sam's new act, of him being a perfect boyfriend and always being at home. She doesn't like the way he cooks dinner (even remembering that she doesn't eat meat and often times making two meals just to accommodate her) or the flowers that he puts in vases or the little notes he writes each morning before leaving for school for her. She's eager for change, and eager to get things up and running again. Back in Lima, she was the catalyst of any action or drama; she isn't going to give up that title just because she lives south of the Mason-Dixie line now.

Hanging out with Mike and Tina is nice; the two of them are cute together, hold hands, call each other pet names, and don't get sick of each other. Quinn doesn't know how the two of them do it. She's pretty sure that if she were in their position, she would have killed someone a long, long time ago. She's about to kill Sam one afternoon, when he comes home with chocolates and a goofy smile on his face.

"I know you don't really like it," Sam starts, and Quinn can't help but scoff. What's he getting at, starting a conversation off that way? She listens anyway, not interrupting him. "But I got Star Wars for us to watch tonight."

"Which one?" Quinn surprises herself; how did she know that there's even more than one? She knows next to nothing about George Lucas or any of his films – she's shocked that she can even name the creator of the saga. Sam's goofy grin grows even bigger than before.

"The Empire Strikes Back. It's the second one. You'll like it, I swear. So, you know Leia and Luke and C-3P0 and Chewbacca and Han Solo, right?" Quinn nods, just so he'll continue and won't have to explain. She knows who Leia is (the girl with that looks like she glued sticky buns to the side of her head because she got a horrible haircut), and she's pretty sure that Chewbacca is some kind of grizzly bear crossed with some breed of extremely hairy dog. Luke's father, so Luke has to be the main character. She can pretty much guess that the robot guy's name is C-3P0 – who would name a person something dumb like that? That leaves Han Solo. She figures she'll find out who he is after the movie begins.

"Well they're hiding on Hoth. Which is funny, because Hoth is actually super cold. Get it? Hot…Hoth…but it's cold…anyway. Vader sends out some probes and they find the Rebels, and fight, and then Luke trains to be a Jedi…" At that point, Quinn no longer cares. She zones out. If the movie wasn't going to bore her to death, Sam Evans surely will. When she figures that he's just about done, she grins at him.

"Sounds awesome."

They sit on the couch, watching the movie in near silence. Han Solo is frozen in carbonite, which Quinn is pretty sure is impossible, when her stomach grumbles. She gets up silently and heads to the kitchen to see if there is anything she can eat. There's popcorn, and Quinn puts a bag in the microwave. The movie continues, and there is nothing to complain about. It is just another evening, just another movie, just another in-house date where they don't have to spend obscene amounts of money to enjoy themselves.

Sam grabs a handful of popcorn, shoving it in his mouth. He reminds Quinn of a kind of hungry barbarian, a person who had never seen this kind of food and wanted to eat as much of it as possible less it disappeared right before his eyes. They are quiet, listening to the idiotic banter of the characters when Sam decides to speak up.

"Somebody called for you." Quinn, busy trying to figure out what happened in between the time she went to pop the popcorn and her return, doesn't want any interruptions.

"Shh. That's an edock, right?" she asks, pointing to the furry, puppy like animal with a spear. Sam rolls his eyes – it's obvious she has no knowledge on the subject and even when she pretends to know things she isn't very good at it.

"No. It's an ewok. Anyway. I'm trying to talk to you." Quinn continues to ignore him. "Can you look at me? For just one minute? Jesus, Quinn." Quinn does not turn her head, but shuts up and tilts her head to indicate that she is listening to him.

"Somebody called for you – Noah Engleman or something. Some Jewish name like that. Anyway. He said you should call him back 'cause it's important or something. I don't remember." She stiffens at the name. Noah Engleman? Surely it isn't the Noah that she's thinking of, the one who took her virginity, sent her packing out of Lima, the father of her one and only child. Noah Engleman. It couldn't possibly be the same boy.

"Puckerman. Did you mean Puckerman?" Sam ponders this for a second, knowing full well that he could have mixed up the names, seeing as the call seems to be lost in his mind.

"Yeah. Could be. I don't remember."

"If he calls again, tell him he has the wrong number. Or that you'll call the police if he bothers you again. Just … don't talk to him. Okay? Don't talk to him." Quinn is panicking, her brain no longer occupied by the fifth entry in the Star Wars Saga, no longer caring how the Empire would strike back. Now all she can think about is Noah Puckerman finding out where she lives, where she works, and the inner workings of her new and private life.

"Why? Who is he? Did he hurt you?" Sam asks, his eyes widening. Quinn shakes her head.

"He's … Sam, he's the father of my child."

Sam refuses to talk to Quinn for days. She doesn't feel guilty for telling him the truth; he never asked, so she never felt the need to tell him. But now that he knows that she's had a child, its like he wants nothing to do with her. He sleeps on the couch, spends all day out of the apartment, and when he sees Quinn? He walks the other way. For the first day or so, Quinn doesn't care. He can ignore her all he wants; eventually he'll end up breaking down and being his sweet, ballad singing self again. In the meantime, Quinn stays at Mike and Tina's place.

The two of them are incredibly sweet together, but sometimes it makes Quinn want to vomit. They hold hands constantly, whether they are out shopping for groceries or sitting on the couch to watch television. He kisses her on the cheek every five minutes. Every time they need to give their name, they feel the need to add "no relation" and give each other a peck on the lips. She reads in another room at night so Mike can get to sleep without interruption. Honestly, Quinn doesn't understand it; they're perfect for each other, but somehow, they don't make each other sick.

One night, Mike has plans with friends from work. Tina stays behind with Quinn; the two of them are looking forward to a girl's night in. With _Mean Girls _in the DVD player and candy from the dollar store on the bed, Quinn and Tina begin their night on a lighter note.

"So, Quinn. Sam won't talk to you because … you had a baby? Before you even met him?" Tina asks, incredulity in her voice. Quinn nods. "That's ridiculous. Why doesn't he listen to you?"

"God, Tina, just because he's a boy doesn't mean you can ask him why he's an idiot," Quinn responds, grinning at her friend. It feels good to have somebody to complain about Sam to. Everyone else seems to be completely head over heels for the boy. Tina, though, has commonsense, and has known Sam for a long enough time to know that the boy isn't exactly a rocket scientist.

"Yeah, but why is he acting this way? He's a good guy – he knows not to judge people just because they've made a few mistakes in the past. I mean, he isn't perfect himself …" Tina makes a good point.

"Exactly! He does stupid things all the time! He leaves the lights on and doesn't put his shit away. He calls his mother like, twice a day. And I'm pretty sure he's been high before, so why the hell does he get to judge _me _for getting pregnant? It isn't like I chose to! I wasn't like, 'hey, world, I'm gonna have a baby today!' No! It ruined my fucking life, getting pregnant like that! That's why I put Beth up for adoption … I'm not ready to raise a child! I'm not … I'm not …"

Tina puts an arm on Quinn's shoulder, making shushing sounds and biting her lip. So this is what it's like, Quinn thinks, to have a real friend.


	6. Chapter 6

After almost a week and a half, Quinn can't take it anymore. She knows that she has a place to stay where she can be with friends and people who care about her; Tina has made that abundantly clear. At the same time, she can't stand the prospect that she is imposing on her friend and has gone too far. Glancing at her phone, she notices the four missed calls that she's received over the past twenty-four hours. All of them are from Sam. He left her multiple texts as well, which Quinn promptly deletes, sending them to the junk drawer of cyberspace. Chances are that he has nothing nice to say, and as Quinn learned from Bambi and Thumper all of those years ago, if a person has nothing nice to say, it's probably best if the person says nothing at all.

She doesn't feel remorseful for ignoring Sam. He has been an ass, and even if he apologizes, there's no making up for the things that he said to her. She didn't choose to get pregnant or break the condom that Noah used on purpose. She was caught up in a moment of passion, stuck between obeying her mother and father and compromising her morals – she had sex, which, although looked down upon by her parents and the church, was hardly a sin. There were many worse things that Quinn could have done, and even if she regrets her pregnancy, she cannot change the fact that it happened and is forever a part of who she is. What she doesn't understand is why Sam makes such a big deal out of this. Before he met Quinn, he might have been a virgin. And if he was? He definitely still is. Quinn made sure to preserve both what is left of her innocence and whatever he has left of his. When the two of them moved in together, she made a point to discuss that the baggage that they both had is open for discussion, and he could ask her anything. He never asked Quinn if she had ever gotten pregnant.

Quinn is pretty sure that Sam never has been the judgmental type. He doesn't call her a freak for the way she washes every dish twice to make sure that it is clean, and he thinks that her wide variety of music (from Canadian indie lesbian bands to hardcore screamo and everywhere in between) makes her cultured and adorable. But then, once he found out that Quinn once carried another living being inside of her for nine months, a switch went off inside of him, and everything changed. She says her goodbyes to Tina and Mike, packs up the few small things that she brought with her to their humble abode. They tell her that she's welcome to stay with them any time, and she tells them that as much as she appreciates their offer, she'll have to decline; she'll probably be moving somewhere else sometime soon, anyway.

Making her way back to the apartment she's supposed to share with Sam Evans, she counts every step she makes, trying to elongate the trip back and the moment where she tells Sam exactly what she thinks of him. In her head, she rehearses the insults she plans to hurl his way at supersonic speed. She's certain that Sam won't know what hits him. She doesn't knock on the door, even though she doesn't have her key with her. Instead, Quinn turns the doorknob and enters to find Sam Evans laughing at a joke told by the one and only father of her child, Noah Puckerman.

She has two gut reactions simultaneously, and she isn't sure which one is the smarter course of action. She wants to turn around and run away, hide her face from him and never show up again. She'll shave her head and join the circus if she has to, or join the Witness Protection Program and tell them that she's seen a violent murder and that some strange man with intimidating features is coming after her. As long as she doesn't have to look at Noah, she'll do whatever it takes. Before she can do that, though, Noah Puckerman opens up his mouth and begins to speak.

"Hey, Quinn." The smile on his face is a shy one, instead of the menacingly clever one that she's used to seeing on his face. And before she even knows what emotion she's feeling, Quinn is flying at him, her feet landing heavily on the ground as thoughts of rage fill her mind.

"What are you – how did – why – why are you here?" Quinn is yelling at him, and he seems unfazed. Sam, on the other hand, takes a decently sized step back, eyes wide with shock. While Noah has seen Quinn lose her cool like this before and even fly completely off the handle and gone almost completely insane, Sam hasn't been around her when she's in a state like this. Noah chuckles at Sam's startled expression and gives the other boy a clap on the back in encouragement.

"Your boyfriend told me," he grins, looking at Quinn and then at Sam before bringing his gaze back to her. A sneer plays on her lips; Sam told Puckerman where she lived? He told Noah that the two of them were a couple? As much as she could take Sam being enough of an idiot to ignore her for a week, she couldn't even begin to explain how she felt now. She doesn't feel obligated to be with him in any way; their relationship (or lack thereof) is of convenience, if of nothing else. Calling him her boyfriend connotes that she actually gives a damn about what he says or does. And even if deep down she's filled with hurt, she won't let him know that. That would be a sign of weakness, and Quinn Fabray is _not _weak. She steps forward and gives Noah a firm slap across the face.

Her phone rings, but Quinn does not want to answer it. Without looking, she can tell exactly who it is on the other line – it isn't because of the ringtone or some sixth sense that she's developed due to radiation poisoning. It's simple intuition. The phone beeps another time, letting her know that Noah or Sam has hung up again, and that she should expect her voicemail to be full by the time she reaches her destination. Speaking of which, she has no idea where she's going. Meandering through the streets of downtown Charleston is a good break for the mind, and Quinn has a pretty good grasp of where the best hiding places are around the city. Historical houses, for instance, allow her to blend in with the crowd of tourists and school trips, while art galleries are known for being mostly empty, especially during the day. She holds her breath in, only letting it escape when absolutely necessary; it's a technique she learned in Glee club back in high school to work on holding out her notes as long as she could.

After a good few hours walking around town and shopping with the credit card that leads to her parents' bank account (which is supposed to be used in emergencies only), she feels ready to go and sit down civilly with Noah and Sam to talk about why he's actually in town. It's a big step and she feels like she's risking quite a bit, but in her heart, she knows that it's better to talk things out and get Noah Puckerman out of South Carolina than to ignore him and run the chance of him staying for a longer period of time. Plus, Sam is on the brink of forgiving her – all she has to do is act like the civil, polite girl that she was brought up to be. She takes a deep breath and opens the door to the shared apartment. The tension immediately spills over her body, suffocating her brain from any calm thoughts she may have had. The boys notice her at once from their spot in the kitchen, and Sam is the first to speak.

"Where were you? You scared me. I didn't know where you were."

"Nowhere," Quinn responds, feeling a tinge of guilt. Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

"You don't have to lie to me; I trust you. But I want to know where you're going. You keep disappearing, and I don't understand. I'm just trying to figure this whole thing out." Sam purses his oversized fish lips. Quinn looks down at herself; she can't look him in the eyes. It hurts too much.

"She runs away from everything, dude. Don't get your panties in a bunch. If something doesn't go her way, she'll disappear without a trace. She'll come back when she's ready. Learned that the hard way." Puckerman rolls his eyes, and although he intends his words to be a joke, his words still sting. But it's the truth. She'll have to face it sometime.

"That's not true. That's not fair!" Quinn responds. Her words betray the way she feels, but who is Noah Puckerman to judge her for leaving her life in Lima behind? Even if he doesn't work the hardest or put effort into anything, he still can get anything or anyone he wants; Quinn, on the other hand, lost everything.

"One of these days, Quinn, you're going to have to stop running. You'll want to stop running. You'll get tired of playing house, and you'll move on. Just like you always do."

Quinn knows that he's absolutely right.


	7. Chapter 7

It doesn't take much investigation on Quinn's part to find out where Noah is staying while he is in Charleston. He never has been known for his subtlety, and luckily, most tigers that she knows don't change their stripes. Noah, when he leaves Sam and Quinn's apartment, leaves a card on the table. At first, she thinks its one of his business cards for his stupid little pool cleaning business, but she soon realizes that this would make little sense. There are no pools in Downtown Charleston, where they live. If they really need to go swimming, she can drive to the beach any time she wants.

She calls the number after closing up the gallery, wishing that he wouldn't pick up or that she had dreamed the past few days and would wake up at the sound of the ring. Unfortunately, neither case proves to be true, and Puck's voice can be heard on the other side.

"What's up?" he asks casually, leaving Quinn to wonder if he's even thought about talking to her since their last interaction. Quinn bites her lip, trying to think up a witty response to show that being near Puck isn't melting her brain into a worthless pile of mush.

"Not too much – anything new with you?" Quinn is not surprised; she doesn't expect her mind to work as quickly as her mouth in any matter where Puck is involved.

"Just hanging out. Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just … I wanted to talk to you. When are you free?" She does not want to sound too desperate, but knows that she'll come across as something similar to it anyway.

"Any time's good for me; how about froyo on King at five." Quinn agrees, hangs up her phone, and makes her way to the frozen yogurt shop. It's about time that they settle things out.

The weather outside is blissfully warm; most days in Charleston the weather barely dips below seventy degrees. It makes Quinn feel like the summer season never ends and that things are happier, better off, and over all more sunny here. When she opens the door, though, the illusion dissolves into nothingness; the charade is over as soon as she feels the chilly air against her skin.

It isn't the chilly air that gives Quinn goosebumps as she enters. It is the small, two year old child who is being held by her ex-boyfriend; the blonde hair and the blue eyes, the pale complexion – all of it makes Quinn think about the baby pictures that she used to look at when she went through her mother's scrapbook. Comparing the two, they would be almost identical; this girl, though, appears to be a thousand times more beautiful. Quinn isn't sure if she remembers how to breathe. There are so many thoughts going through her head, and all that she can do is fight and struggle to keep the stray tears from falling down her face.

Quinn is jolted forward by another person, bitterly pushing the door open and impatiently attempting to enter the shop. She turns to look at the person, daggers in her eyes, but no words come to her mouth. She is speechless, she has no words. She is seeing her child, her baby, her Beth for the first time since the girl was born. During her pregnancy, Quinn wanted absolutely nothing to do with the nine-month-old parasite that was growing steadily inside of her. The thought of having a child at sixteen years of age scared her out of her wits. But abortion was out of the question. There was no way that she would risk losing any smidge of respect that she still garnered from her parents, and even worse, she did not plan on going against her religion and risk an eternity of fire and brimstone. Adoption simply was the only solution.

And Quinn did not want to visit her child; she left the option open in case she changed her mind later in life – but at the time, she had no plans of ever meeting her daughter face to face (unless, by chance, they met on the subway or in the street and somehow, by some miracle, happened to recognize each other).And now? Beth is staring wide eyed around, looking at the colorful walls of the frozen yogurt shop. This can't be happening. Not here, not now. Until this very moment, Quinn has been able to keep her thoughts away from her daughter, acting like she doesn't exist or that like children in Africa, Beth is a far away thought. The girl has a mother – not someone who gave birth to her, but a real mother who cares for her, who feeds her vegetables and reads her a bedtime story before tucking her into her sparkly pink princess bed.

"Quinn – over here. We got you vanilla yogurt with heath bars – you still like that, right?" Puck asks, waving at her with his free hand. Quinn can say nothing, but instead walks forward silently, a zombie at the mercy of her one and only child.

He introduces Quinn to Beth, the small three year old girl who honestly can't care any less. Quinn is quiet, unable to think of the words to say, even though all of the questions that she's wanted to ask about Beth have kept Quinn up for many a night. Her mind races with these thoughts, but she finds herself at a loss of words to verbalize them. Beth, with crayons, colors on a napkin. Puck hands her a few more colors, but she pushes them away.

"Pink. I like pink." Beth is adamant about her choice and throws one of the blue crayons at Puck. "Blue is icky. It's a boy color." Quinn laughs. She would have said the same thing when she was that age.

"Beth? Do you wanna know a secret?" Puck asks her, catching the crayon in between his fingers. Beth nods eagerly, bouncing in her seat.

"A secret! A secret! Tell me a secret!" Her voice is loud and a few customers turn their heads to identify the source of the loud, high pitched voice.

"Shhh, you can't tell anyone. And you have to be super duper quiet. Do you think you can do that, Beth?" She nods again, holding her breath and puffing out her cheeks. Puck pokes her in the nose and she lets out her breath again, sitting on her knees and leaning towards Puck so she can be as close to him as she possibly can, given her short stature. Puck purses his lips, trying to think of the right way to phrase what he has to say.

"Well, Noah? What's the –" Quinn begins.

"Daddy! She called you Noah! That's _silly_." Beth interrupts. All three laugh, and Quinn, for a fleeting moment feels like the three of them are an actual family. After a moment or two, Quinn continues her question.

"What's your secret?"

"Bethy, do you know why I wanted you to meet Miss Quinn?"

"Is she a princess?" Beth asks excitedly. Quinn shakes her head, but does not say a word.

"Miss Quinn isn't a princess … not like the ones in your story books. She's a different kind of princess, without the castles, without the crowns, without the fairy godmother. She's the beautiful kind, the one who can make your heart flip without even trying. Her smile can light up the night. When she promises something, it comes true – she's the kind of princess that is so hard to find, and impossible to lose."

Quinn can feel the tears forming in her eyes as Puck describes her in this way. She has not thought of herself as royalty in such a long time. Not since her days at McKinley. Even then, in high school, Quinn had moments when she felt like much less than how Noah was describing her. Her parents threatened to disown her when they found out that she was pregnant; she lost the title of Prom Queen in her Junior year; she watched as Rachel Berry, the overconfident, Broadway obsessed hobbit, took control of the Glee club, entered the celibacy club, and took Finn Hudson away from her – ruining what felt like her few and only chances to take control of something and accomplish something with her life; she lost the title of Prom Queen once again in her Senior year. Rachel Berry took everything from her. Rachel Berry was the new queen of McKinley High School. And Quinn? She was the royal daughter ejected from the throne in a nonviolent coup d'état, left broken on the floor.

"So you _are _a princess?" Beth turns to Quinn, looking at her with widened eyes and obvious, unhidden excitement. Puck nods.

"I, uh … I guess so." She tries to look confident, but cannot shake the feeling that Puck is lying to their daughter for a reason that she cannot yet comprehend.

"Yes, Beth. She is a princess – but more importantly, Miss Quinn is your mother."


	8. Chapter 8

"So he brought her? Your daughter?" Tina props herself up on her elbows, looking at Quinn with excitement in her eyes. Quinn nods. It has been strange, the past few days, as she has discovered more and more about her daughter, a girl who she thought she would never care about. She finds her heart softening at the idea of getting to know Beth, learning about her favorite foods, her friends at home, her childish dreams and aspirations at the tender age of three. It is an exciting time in both of their lives – an opportunity that Quinn never thought she'd get the chance to have.

"And what? You told him you don't want to be near her, or you want to move back to Ohio, or what?" Tina asks.

"I don't know. She's … Tina, she's gorgeous. She looks just like me. She _is _just like me. But I can't just … if I could turn back time and be there for her, I would. But she's three. She already has a life, and knows that I'm not in it. She didn't even know who I was today. I can't just step in and be her mom again." Running a hand through her pink hair, Quinn tires to rationalize her thoughts and actions. She gave Beth up for adoption because it was the best thing she could do for her child. Keeping her wasn't an option; she was a teenage mother who had to go through high school, get into college, and make a name for herself. She had nothing. And even now, as Quinn sits in Tina's apartment, bringing Beth into her life is still not plausible.

There are too many variables. Quinn can't keep a steady, happy relationship with her roommate and sort-of boyfriend. She isn't even sure if Sam Evans _is _her boyfriend. Beth already knows and loves her biological father. So if that's the case, what right does Quinn have to confuse the child even more? Beth deserves better than that. Better than Quinn. Plus, what if Noah has already given her a mother figure? It'd be just like him – dating another woman, dating multiple women, and not caring about how it impacted his daughter. However he is raising the child, Quinn can't interfere. She won't. It just isn't right.

"How do you know? If she's just like you, she's not going to forget about you. Just because she has a life doesn't mean that you can't start being a part of it now," Tina reassures her. Still, it doesn't feel right.

"She's three years old. Do you know what that means?" Anger is boiling under her surface, prepared to show at any given moment.

"Yes, I know exactly what that means. She's just starting her life – she's three, not thirteen. She doesn't know anything about anything. She doesn't even know what a mother is because she's never even had one. And you're denying her the chance to get to know hers. If anything's not fair, it's what you're doing."

Quinn looks away, her eyes focusing on her lap and her head trying to forget the feelings that are starting to develop inside of her. Even if she doesn't want to believe it, Tina's making a lot of sense. She's right, Quinn's wrong. It'll just take Quinn sacrificing her pride to admit it, and she's not sure if she's prepared to do that just yet.

Starbucks isn't a daily necessity for Quinn, but all the same, Puckerman seems to think that it's the perfect place for the two of them to meet. While she isn't thrilled about the idea, Quinn obliges. What harm could come of a simple conversation? Surely after twenty minutes he will realize that she's not fit to mother any child – especially not the one that she abandoned three long years ago. But Noah requests that she meets him, and she cannot think of a good enough excuse to deny him of this one simple request.

"She thinks you're the greatest thing alive, you know," he starts, bringing his coffee to his lips with a smirk. He seems so smug, so sure of himself. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"And?"

"And I don't understand why you don't want to know her. She hasn't stopped asking me questions since the other day when we got frozen yogurt … everything she says –it's all about you."

"You really should stop exaggerating, Puckerman; it doesn't suit you."

"I would, but I'm not. All she cares about right now is her mom – the lady with the pink hair that she met that said she was a princess. She wants to know everything about you. When's your birthday, how I met you, where you buy all your princess clothes … what mother means, too. And I can't answer those things for her."

"Sure you can. You know all of those things. You don't need me to answer them."

"It's not my place to answer them."

"You're her _father!_" Exasperation is taking over. Quinn doesn't want anything to do with this conversation. Not anymore. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and squeezing the plastic frappe cup in her hand until she can't squeeze it any tighter.

"And you're her mother. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Noah leans onto the table, clasping his hands in front of him as if in some form of prayer. The words sting worse than anything else. Mother. The word means plenty to her. How could it not? When she was a child, it meant comfort and serenity, a warm hug on a cold, lightless night. In high school it meant the decline of her social life and the end of life as she knew it. And now? Now Quinn isn't sure exactly what it means, but it certainly feels like a heavy weight on her shoulders and a burning on her tongue. But words have escaped Quinn in this moment, and she can only take one breath at a time and keep her eyes shut tight.

The phone rings again, the sound of Cage the Elephant's 'Ain't No Rest for the Wicked' blaring through the silence of the kitchen. Sam isn't home yet; it must be Quinn's. She doesn't want to answer it. And why should she? She's certain that it's Noah, calling her for the millionth time in the past few days. He'll want her to come visit wherever he's staying, to visit him and to visit Beth. He'll want to push Quinn out of the comfort zone that she has so tenderly built up for herself. He'll want to tear it down, leaving it in ruins far worse than before. Quinn doesn't want to deal with that. Not now, not ever. Even so, she picks up her phone from the counter and answers it with a bitter tone.

"What do you want?"

The voice that speaks next is unexpected. It's feminine, soft, but anxious. The other person cannot see her, but Quinn chews on her lip.

"I'm sorry – is this Quinn? I think I have the wrong number."

Despite her best instinct, Quinn answers instead of slamming the phone back down, hanging up on the girl and going on with her life. She answers, instead, a tentative tone creeping into her voice.

"Yes, this – this is she – may I ask who's calling?"

"This is Rachel Berry – and I know what you're thinking, but before you –"

"What do you want? I told you not to call me."

"But I have to." There's some desperation in the girl's voice, and Quinn almost feels badly for her. Berry has always been able to make Quinn feel bad about herself. She is the queen of ego destruction. At one point in time, Quinn would have almost used the same phrase to describe herself – but now the cards had been changed, the tables had flipped, and Rachel Barbara Berry was the one on top, leaving Quinn without a proper response. "Please, Quinn. I have to. I need to talk to you about Noah. And –"

"And Beth. Right?" Quinn has made up her mind that snapping at the girl won't do any good. In her own confusing, demented way, the girl is trying to help, trying to mend the situation, even if she had nothing to do with it in the first place. She was doing her own form of justice, no matter how unjust it might be to Quinn or anyone else.

"Right. And I don't want you to be mad at me, but I think it's really important that you have a relationship with your daughter. I grew up without one, and when I was little, it was fine. But once I got to school, and everybody's mothers came into class and everybody's mothers picked them up after school, it kinda hurt that I didn't get that opportunity. Having my fathers was great and all, but for sixteen and a half years, I never knew who my mother was. You might not know how that feels, but I'll have you know that it's absolutely devastating."

"And yet you turned out just fine, didn't you?" Without intending to, Quinn has lost her ability to feel empathetic for the Broadway-bound girl with a mouth even bigger than her dreams. "Your dads gave you everything you needed and did the best they could to raise you, and you're just fine. You're off somewhere in New York, doing something you knew you'd do since the time you first opened up your big, fat, ugly mouth." There was a silence on the other end.

"Actually, Quinn, I'm here with Noah and Beth."


	9. Chapter 9

If Quinn hadn't been mad enough just moments before, now she wants to rip her head off, chewing the mushy gray matter that makes up whatever brain that Rachel has left. The girl who has it all, the girl who took it all away, was now here with her ex-boyfriend and her daughter. Her daughter, her flesh and blood. An image of Beth bouncing on the brunette's knee, clapping along to songs from Miss Saigon or Les Miserables, or worse – Cats. Puckerman would play showtunes on guitar (or perhaps he has taken up piano; Quinn is too enraged to think through the situation). Beth would no longer be Bethany Lucille, but Bethany Barbra, named after her adopted mother instead of the woman who carried her in her womb.

But her tone is incredulous, not incensed. Quinn breathes through her nose to bottle up the feelings that are pushing against the wall of her better knowledge.

"You're here. With him. With –" In true Rachel fashion, the girl interrupts.

"And Beth, yes."

"Why?" The word holds so much more meaning than three little letters ever should. Why is Rachel interested in bringing Beth and Quinn back together? Why is Rachel calling her? Why is she with Puckerman? Why did she ruin Quinn's life? Why, why, why? There are a thousand answers, but each one brings a myriad of questions alongside it. There is a pregnant silence, as if for once, Rachel cannot think of the words she wants to say.

"Did you read the letter?" Quinn doesn't answer. "He – Noah – he sent it a while ago. Did you even read it?"

"I don't want anything to do with this. Whatever reasoning he has, he still doesn't have the right to come in and mess with me like this. I don't care." With her shaky voice, Quinn is sure that her hot tears have become audible.

"Just read it, Quinn."

"But –"

"Read it."

The paper lays crumpled and wrinkled on the counter, underneath the fruit bowl and behind one of Sam's school books. Quinn takes a moment to find it, either because the space is so crowded or because she truly does not want to find what Rachel has demanded of her. Sliding her finger across the back of the envelope, it opens with ease, almost too easily for Quinn's liking. Her eyes scan the top of the page, the crossed out word jumping out at her, the memory of its last reading still heavy on her mind.

_Dear __ex__ beautiful,_

_I'm writing you this note, just to let you know. Things are going fine here at home. Keeping the plants watered. _

This is where she stopped last time. Quinn inhales sharply. She will finish the letter. She has to, even if it kills her.

_Tucking in our daughter, every night. She looks more like you all the time. Oh, by the way your mom says hi._

Her mother. Quinn hasn't talked to her mother in what seems like years, but all the same, it isn't a decision she regrets. They abandoned her, told her that she was no longer their little girl. They moved on with their lives and she has moved on with hers. Her mother could say a thousand things, and Quinn just won't care. But a sharp pang that arises in her chest informs her of her true emotions, reminding her again that she isn't as removed from her past as she says she is. Or as she'd like to be.

_I got a job just paying off your debts – cleaning up your mess. All the bills you wrote out in bad checks._

Quinn's lips tighten against each other, pressing together to keep all of the bad energy inside. She despises the way that he writes these words, like he has the right to tell her that her decisions weren't for the best. She knows that her actions, though not conventional, were the only choices she had. Finances at the time were not easy. She remembers the days she slept in her car, the week where she ate ramen noodles without water because she had no place to cook them. Sam saved her from her homelessness, gave her a bed to sleep in and a whisper of hope that tucked her tightly underneath her sheets.

And although she now complains of Sam's dorky obsession with other worlds, Quinn is grateful that she has something to complain about. He cares about her; he takes careful note of her pet peeves and modifies his behavior; he kisses her goodnight and returns a form of normalcy to her life. Of all the men she could have ended up with, Quinn knows that Sam is not that bad.

_Rachel and Finn got married, they say they are very happy now in their little white picket house. I hope that everything works out._

That is the final nail in the coffin. Rachel Berry, the little nobody with seemingly no chance at making it big, getting her name out there, or winning anyone over – Rachel Berry, the same girl that is now in Charleston with Noah, married Finn Hudson, the quarterback of the WMHS football team, the goofy, tall boy whom Quinn had once dated. Now, more than ever, Quinn's previous opinion of the brunette stands strong. She takes another breath, struggling against herself to not pick up the phone to curse Noah Puckerman, her child, and everything she had once known. Closing her eyes, Quinn's breathing evens out, slowly but surely, leading her into a calmness that she thought she would not know again.

Rachel and Finn. They seem like they would be a good couple. Quinn recalls her third year of high school when the two of them got together in the first place; while alone they had been painstakingly obnoxious, needy, and even repulsive, they clicked together better than most people she knew. They were almost made for each other. Considering they now have been together for at least three years, marriage seems a leap, but not an impossible one. Both Rachel and Finn deserve each other, and Quinn can't chastise them for committing. It's something she's never been able to do.

_It's not like I've been out looking for anyone one else. I want you to come back now._

He wants her to come back. That's why he's here. That's why he drove all the way from Ohio, took Beth back from Shelby, worked so hard to make sure that she'd call back. But she won't go back. She can't. Returning home is admitting defeat and showing weakness. Her parents won't accept her, and because Lima is such an excruciatingly small town, nobody else will, either. A small thought sneaks its way into a corner of her mind, growing exponentially by the minute until it overtakes her. Just because Noah Puckerman is here in Charleston doesn't mean that he wants her to return to Lima. He simply wants her back. And that means that they can be together in Ohio, in South Carolina, or anywhere else. And even so, that doesn't mean that she has to be with him again at all.

_I need you to come back and fix the home that you wrecked. I want you to come back now._

The home that shewrecked? The home that _she _left so that she could give Beth the best in life and more opportunities than if Quinn had stayed? By no definition of the word had she wrecked Beth's life or her 'home' with Noah. She never moved in with him, never made him a promise. But she can't let herself get angry now. The next time she sees Noah without their daughter, Quinn plans to let Puckerman know precisely how she feels.

_So, ex-beautiful, I'm writing you this note just to let you know – I am slowly dying without you. My muscles start to seize and I'm looking for a reason you and me – we were the best I've ever seen…and now it's all I can do to breathe. So I breathe._

The letter finishes with a flourished surname and a crayoned scribble.


	10. Chapter 10

Her slender fingers shakily dial the number as she bites down on her lip to keep herself from crying. The hot, salty tears are not what she needs right now; they'll choke her and catch in her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe .The dial tone on the other end of the phone, usually calming (it reminds her that nobody wants to talk to her, that she has successfully alienated herself and that she will forever be alone), creates a balloon of anxiety that needs to be popped. Sam is asleep on the couch, arm falling over the side and drool slips from the down-turned corner of his mouth. The dial tone continues, ringing. Ringing, ringing, always ringing.

"Hello? Quinn, I'm so glad that you called. I was beginning to be genuinely worried that you were mad at me, and I couldn't fathom the reason why. I'm so glad you called. Have you talked to Noah yet? I'm assuming you read the letter, because that's what we talked about last…" The voice on the other end of the line is familiar, and unfortunately so. Even though the girl can't possibly see her, Quinn forces a smile onto her face, hoping it will give her a peppier tone.

"It's alright, Rachel. It's alright."

"Are you sure? I hope that he's been okay to you – and have you met Beth, yet? Isn't she such a beautiful little girl? Isn't she …"

"My daughter? Yes, she is. It's amazing just how much she looks like my side of the family." A bit of poison slips through Quinn's lips as she speaks. She no longer cares if Rachel is offended by her words. Beth is _her _daughter. Not Shelby's. Not Rachel's. Even Noah Puckerman only has half of a claim to the young child. Quinn, on the other hand, carried that child from conception, became a social outcast, gave up everything she cared about, just for Beth's safe delivery. The fact that her child was put up for adoption no longer matters. Beth is _her _child, and her child alone. Nobody else, in her eyes, will ever be able to sacrifice enough for the blonde babe.

"She does, doesn't she?" Luckily for Quinn, Rachel has picked up on the message and now has is speaking warily, as if Quinn's bite will soon follow her infamous bark.

"Why is she here? Why did he bring her _here_? It's one thing to track me down, but to bring _her"_ Quinn asks aloud.

"Beth has a picture of you by her bed. Noah talks to her about you nonstop. He wanted her to meet you. You to get to know her. She's a good kid, Quinn, even if she's young. She's a good kid, and she deserves the chance to get to know her mother. I don't think that you can argue that he's got both of your best interests at heart." The words are surprising; Quinn never expected her daughter to have a connection to her, never expected Noah to want the three of them to be a family. He had so many other things he could worry about. And Quinn? At the time, she couldn't possibly handle having a child on top of everything else.

"Is he trying to guilt trip me or something?"

"Or something. He's not a bad person. He's trying to build a family for all three of you. Even if it's not in Lima, even if it's not a dream situation. He wants Beth to know the people who helped bring her into this world, and he wants them to be there for her."

"And what if I don't want to get to know her? Who said I want to be her mother?" Her own words sting, worse than the feeling of being slapped and worse than the time that she'd skinned her knee and broken her arm when she fell riding her bike. Nothing feels worse to Quinn than telling someone that she has no feelings for the two people that make her feel most complete.

"She'll still have female role model. Noah won't let her be abandoned that way; he cares about her; he wants the best for her … he's a good father." A good father. This version of Noah seemed so much more glorified than the one that she remembered. When she left, Noah Puckerman was a football player, a jock, a man's man for a lack of a better term. It seems highly unlikely, to Quinn at least, that he's given up on his old self entirely simply to raise a child that he originally didn't want in the first place. She takes another breath and tries to not mince her words before speaking again, though all of her efforts to keep calm are in vain.

"And who would this role model be? Is he seeing anyone?" And then a horrible notion dawns on her and she prays that it isn't true. "You're highly invested in this – why? Why do you care so much?"

"You're being a bit too hypocritical, aren't you? You just said that you don't want to be her mother. That you don't want to get to know her. I don't know much about how other people go around getting what they want out of people, but I'm pretty sure that they don't say one thing and then take it back." The knot in Quinn's stomach tightens. She knows that she's been caught.

"If anyone is going to be a role model to my daughter, I want it to be me. Not you, not some –" Quinn takes a moment to pause, unsure if she wants to use crude language or not, "_bitch_ that he picks out. She's my daughter, and I want to be her only mother. You – you don't know what it feels like, what it's like to have someone so close to you that doesn't even know you exist, do you? You have no idea!"

A tear falls down her face and she looks down into lap, short pink hair falling into her eyes. The color of her own hair surprises her; though it has been this way for a good time now, since she has been talking to Rachel, Quinn reverted so much into her old self that she forgot she no longer is a senior in high school. She isn't the prom queen. She isn't the head cheerleader. She's Quinn Fabray, the lonely. Quinn Fabray, the sad. The girl with everything has become the girl with nothing and is only an echo of the person she used to want to be. And she knows that her words have been harsh and uncalled for. Rachel grew up without a mother, but with two fathers instead. They loved her, as far as Quinn knew, but nothing could replace the person who Rachel wanted to know so badly. She's being overly critical, not taking anyone else's experiences into account. Quinn knows all of this, but at the moment, she couldn't care any less.

"Goodbye, Quinn. This was a mistake – I'm sorry I called – I won't be contacting you again. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

"Rachel – wait, don't –" The realization of just how biting her words have been comes to her and Quinn wishes she had just nodded and yessed the girl. Things would have been much easier this way. They would have reached the point of this conversation sooner, Quinn would have been honest, and Rachel would help Quinn get back in her daughter's life. Now? There is almost no chance.

"I have to go. There's … I have a performance tomorrow morning, and I can't …"

"You were right." The words hang between them like a glider in mid flight.

"I was … what are you trying to say, Quinn?" For once, she knows exactly what she means and exactly the words that she wants to use to accomplish it.

"You were right. I want to meet my daughter." There is a short pause that Quinn will not allow to stay, a silence that she knows that she must fill. "Beth. I want to be her mother."


End file.
